Word: haired
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...symbol of her emancipation woman has agreed voluntarily to cast away. No longer need weary travelling men vacate their habitat before a feminine influx, or harassed deans tear their hair at co-eds who refuse to obey non-smoking regulations; not, that is, if the vote of the National Convention of Sororities means anything...
...Bushy of hair, muscular of body (which once was puny), Mr. Macfadden has long been proud of himself and his magazines. Recently he circulated among advertisers the information that last summer he made a speech in the British House of Commons and had dinner with a couple of lords...
...March 1927, when dilution began, True Story promised much, gave little. On its cover was a colored picture of a voluptuous-looking woman with hair down, shoulders bare except for a hint of negligee. The story titles included "The Price of Secret Love," "The Treacherous Kiss," "My Terrible Mistake," "My Reckless Romance," and even more urgent subtitles. But, though the number of thwarted seductions increased alarmingly, there were only two successful ones. This issue also contained a page bearing the legend...
...Smoke and Steel), and biographer (Abraham Lincoln, The Prairie Years), in Boston, his hair falling in a "harmlessly affected manner to give the man an air of privacy," gave a reading of his works in accustomed eccentric style. A large guitar was hung around his neck; at the end of his reading, he took this and strummed it while he sang old songs about the West...
AUBREY BEARDSLEY-Haldane MacFall -Simon & Schuster ($6). Some 30 years ago a lanky fop, carrying a pair of lemon-kid gloves, his hair falling about his ears like a hermit's, attended an ironic ceremony in a London church. The occasion was the unveiling of a bust of John Keats; after it was over, Aubrey Beardsley ". . . broke away from the throng, and, hurrying across the graveyard, stumbled and lurched awkwardly over the green mounds of the sleeping dead." It was an ironic ceremony because Artist Beardsley, as Poet Keats had done, was to go southward and die of consumption...